The Silent Village

The walk to the girl's home felt endless. The path twisted through the hills, bordered by trees whispering in the rain. Baldwin noticed

The rain softened to a drizzle, but the silence deepened. No birds sang. No laughter echoed—only the hush of something wrong.

The village felt like a graveyard pretending to be alive.

Shutters were closed even in daylight, signs swung broken on their hinges, and the few villagers that showed themselves stared with empty, resentful eyes.

Their glares lingered on the girl, their disdain unmistakable.

"What's your name?" Baldwin asked, breaking the tense silence.

"Olivia," the girl replied softly, her voice barely above the sound of raindrops.

"A sweet name," Baldwin said with a smile, but Olivia remained silent, her gaze fixed on the muddy path ahead.

The village faded behind them as Olivia led him toward the forested hills. The air grew cooler, and the rain lightened, becoming a mist that clung to their clothes. Eventually, they reached a small clearing where a broken hut stood alone.

The hut looked weary, like it had survived one storm too many. Its red roof sagged in places, and the wooden walls were cracked and warped. A small vegetable garden lay untended, overrun with weeds. Nearby, a solitary tree stood as if guarding the home.

"This is your home, I assume?" Baldwin asked.

"Yes," Olivia said, her voice trembling. "Sorry, but I… I'll do anything if you can help my mother. Please, just help her."

Baldwin nodded solemnly and followed Olivia into the hut.

Inside, the air was damp and cold. There was little furniture—just three large water jars and a few dried fruits that looked well past their prime. Baldwin's gaze fell on the woman lying on the floor, a thin sheet separating her from the cold wood.

She was stunningly beautiful despite her pale, sickly appearance. Her chest rose and fell faintly, as if each breath was a battle. Her forehead glistened with sweat, and her cheeks were flushed with fever.

Baldwin knelt beside her, placing a hand on her forehead. The heat radiating from her skin was alarming. If she were an ordinary human, this fever would have killed her already, he thought grimly.

"What are her symptoms?" Baldwin asked, glancing at Olivia.

"She was unconscious for sixteen days," Olivia began, her voice wavering. "Sometimes she moves, but… it's like she's in pain. Her temperature is always so high. She's like… like she's in a coma."

Baldwin listened carefully, piecing her words together with what he already knew. The Homa Plague, as the reports described, was no ordinary illness. Victims fell into deep comas, their bodies overtaken by something unnatural. When they awoke, they were no longer the same—personalities erased, memories gone. Worse, the rumors claimed they killed the first person they saw, sometimes drinking their blood before vanishing.

He kept these grim details to himself. There was no need to burden Olivia with such horrors.

Why are you spacing out?" Olivia asked, worry creeping into her voice.

"No reason," Baldwin said, forcing a small smile. "Just thinking."

"Well… don't touch her too much," Olivia warned. "People say you can get infected that way."

Baldwin chuckled softly, his hand still on the woman's forehead. "Don't worry about me."

Before Olivia could respond, a low growl rumbled through the hut. Baldwin raised an eyebrow.

"Someone seems hungry," he commented.

Olivia's face turned crimson. She quickly covered her face with her hands and turned away, too embarrassed to look at him.

"It's okay, Olivia," Baldwin said gently. "Do you have any food?"

"There's a fruit tree… south of the house," Olivia mumbled.

"Only fruit?" Baldwin mused, suppressing a sigh. "So this is what they live on…" Baldwin thought to himself, but kept his expression calm, pretending everything was normal.

"So, how far is it?" he asked casually.

"No, it's in the backyard. It'll be quick!" Olivia said, hurrying out of the hut without waiting for a response.

As Olivia slipped through the creaking door, Baldwin sat in silence for a moment, listening. The wind rustled outside. The rain had stopped—but something in the air felt… wrong.

Still, he reached out, his palm glowing faintly red. There was something about her—something that stirred a distant memory.

"Let's try the Demon Soul Art on her," he murmured. "I've seen her somewhere before... but I can't recall. That's strange—my memory never fails me."

But he pushed the thought aside and turned his attention to the disease. He needed to understand how the Homa Plague truly worked. If the rumors were true, this wasn't just an illness—it was a curse, or worse, an experiment.

The Demon Soul Art—a forbidden technique, more myth than medicine. Most deemed it unreliable, even dangerous. In truth, it carried a high risk of killing the patient outright. Baldwin thought to himself, recalling the times he had used it before… some had survived, many had not.

He closed his eyes, letting his energy flow into the woman, searching for answers in the darkness of her affliction.

His consciousness drifted—then snapped into an endless white void. Colossal, living churches loomed in all directions, their surfaces pulsing faintly, as if alive.

There were no doors, no windows—just eternal height and shifting stone.

Baldwin decided to approach one of the towering edifices, but they lacked doors or windows, leaving no apparent way inside. As he reached out to touch one, a sharp, searing pain erupted in his head, breaking his focus instantly.

A divine prison…? Baldwin thought.

This isn't just her soul—it's protected… sealed.

He gasped and found himself back in the hut, lying on the ground. Blood dripped from his forehead. Confused, he tried to assess what had happened. The wall in front of him bore a dent where he'd struck his head, and it became clear he had been attacked.

Looking around, One of them grabbed Olivia, his filthy hand clamping over her mouth. She kicked and clawed, but her sobs were muffled, her terror raw and wild in her eyes.

"It seems my disguise was flawless in every way," Baldwin thought to himself as he slowly rose from the floor. "Normally, Abyzou's punch could shatter mountains—yet she couldn't even bruise this ordinary body of mine. And still… some tiny creature managed to wound me."

He smirked.

"Time to feign weakness again. Let them believe I'm just a boy…"

"Wait! What are you doing?" Baldwin demanded, his voice calm but carrying a dangerous edge.

One of the men glanced back, sneering. "Boss, the kid's still alive!"

"Damn it! Finish him off already!" the leader barked.

"It seems lowlifes like you don't understand what kindness truly is," Baldwin said, a wicked smile curling on his lips. "Very well... allow me to teach you the meaning of real kindness."

The man burst into rage.

"Who the hell do you think you are?! Calling me a lowlife—you arrogant little brat!"

The man lunged with his knife, a flash of steel cutting the air—

But Baldwin stepped sideways without looking, like he already knew where it would strike. The blade missed by inches.

"You're slow," Baldwin said flatly. "Even your insult bored me."

Damn it! How dare you! Brat ! The man said.

"Did the word lowlife hurt your feelings?" Baldwin tilted his head, smiling coldly.

"You should thank me. That's kinder than what you really are."

"You should be flattered—I'm better than your father, and even he wouldn't waste words on you. With your skills and that pathetic personality... lowlife is a compliment."

The man growled in frustration. "You brat! You're annoying to hit! Fine, Your mom's gonna be our plaything, and your little sister? She's getting sold off to the highest bidder."

Baldwin's expression darkened. He raised a single finger, his eyes glowing with restrained fury.

"I don't stand with cowards. And I never walk away when someone dares to raise violence against a sick woman and her defenseless daughter."

His voice was calm—too calm.

"Be proud. You're about to witness the power of the Demon King. Even humanity's so-called heroes never lived long enough to see it."

A faint red spark flickered at the tip of his finger, and in the blink of an eye, the man exploded like a balloon, leaving nothing behind but a mist of blood.

The room fell silent. The remaining men stared at Baldwin, horrified.

The leader's voice wavered. "W-What is this kid?!"

"You should count yourselves lucky," Baldwin said, his voice cold, "that I'm merciful enough to let your end come swiftly."

He pointed his finger toward the floor. Shadows began spreading outward, creeping like ink across the wooden surface. In an instant, shadowy hands emerged, writhing and clawing, reaching for the men.

The group screamed as the shadowy hands seized them, pulling them down as though they were drowning in quicksand. One by one, they disappeared into the darkness, their cries echoing until there was silence.

Baldwin stood amidst the eerie quiet, the shadows retreating back into the ground. His calm demeanor returned as he looked at Olivia, who sat trembling in the corner.

"Are you all right?" Baldwin asked gently, his voice now kind.

"You... you're not human..." Olivia whispered, eyes wide with fear and awe.

Her back pressed against the wall as if distance could protect her.

Baldwin gave her a calm smile.

"A mage. That's all. Nothing more, nothing less."

He turned back to the unconscious woman. "Now, if you'll let me… I have work to finish."

Olivia flinched as he stepped closer. Her eyes darted to the Clay floor.

"If that's what a mage is," she whispered, "then I don't think I ever want to meet a demon."